"Oh, believe me, poor foolish youth!" said she, with a smile which, to any one else than one blind with jealousy, would have been a charming confession of the state of her heart,—"believe me. Besides, if you wish to know more, Morand loves a woman in whose presence all others sink into insignificance, as the flowers of the field fade before the stars of heaven."
"And who is this woman who is able to eclipse all other women," demanded Maurice, "when among the number we find Geneviève?"
"Do we not always," said Geneviève, smiling, "consider the one we love as the chef d'œuvre of the creation?"
"Then," said Maurice, "if you do not love me, Geneviève—"
The young woman waited with anxiety the end of the sentence.
"If you do not love me," continued Maurice, "will you at least swear never to love another?"
"Ah! that, Maurice, I will swear with all my heart," cried the young woman, delighted that he had thus compromised with her conscience.
Maurice seized the hands she was raising to Heaven, and covered them with ardent kisses.
"And now," said he, "I will be kind, indulgent, and confiding. I will even be generous. I wish to see you smile, and myself to be happy."